


Coffee

by Living_Underground



Category: Endeavour (TV)
Genre: Colours, Endeavour s05e04, Episode Tag, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-19
Updated: 2019-01-19
Packaged: 2019-10-12 11:23:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17466653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Living_Underground/pseuds/Living_Underground
Summary: They have coffee. Only not the coffee that we know about. Coffee before that coffee. She fixes him, he fixes her.





	Coffee

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: has what may be conceived as an offensive accent from a character of my own devising. It is my poor transcribing, I asked one of my friends to use her accent and she said it was fine, but I could not figure out how to write it. And I did not succeed. So just don't yell at me afterwards about it.

It was not a good idea - turning up on her doorstep, head all bloody, no prior warning – but she was the first person he thought of, not wanting to go to the hassle of seeing a professional about his head, and not in the mood for sitting on a mortuary slab to get it cleaned up. He was not wanting to go home, or as close to a home as he had, staying with Strange, and he was not keen on the idea of seeing Claudine – not after their discussion on love, or the lack thereof. Which really only left her. A brief thought on needing to acquire a few more acquaintances flitted through his mind, if only to have someone other than her to turn to on occasions like this. Occasions when he wanted someone who made him feel…loved. Except she didn’t. Didn’t love him, that is – she was perfectly good at making him feel loved. Perhaps he should have brought a bottle. But even then, he would probably be unwelcome. It was a mistake. He should leave. Just clean it up as best he could himself. Maybe go out for a drink, afterwards. He was just turning away from the door when it was pulled open a couple of inches and a pair of blue eyes peered out.

“Can I ‘elp?”

“No, I…just made a mistake – that’s all,” he backed away from the door, pausing when she spoke again.

“You were ‘eer t’other day, Joanie’s welcomin’, weren’ you?” The young blonde woman opened the door further, “you ‘er friend, ‘en?”

“Err, friend of her father’s, really,” he winced, hearing how that sounded. “Look, I made a mistake. I shouldn’t have come,” he turned then, starting to walk away.

“You go’ blood on your shir’,”

“Really? I hadn’t noticed.”

“Wha’ you do t’your ‘ead, ‘en?”

He stepped to the curb, waiting for a car to pass before crossing the road, and looked back over his shoulder, giving a tight smile “injury at work,”.

“Morse? What are you doing – what have you done to your head?” Her hands were tilting his head down and brush hair out of the way before he even had time to apologise for knocking her shopping out of her hands.

“Shot. Chasing a suspect.”

Her jaw clenched and her grip in his hair tightened slightly. “You’d better come in. It needs cleaning.”

“No, I…I was just passing. I’ll clean it myself when I get home,” he ducked out of her grasp and crouched down to replace her shopping into it’s paper bag; a couple of oranges and a tin of corned beef. He had not even seen her crossing the road, distracted by her flatmate shutting the door.

“If my parents find out I let you walk home trailing blood, they’d throw a fit. Mum loves you like her own.”

“No, she doesn’t. I’m just her husband’s bag-man.”

“Do you ever think she had Peter, or even Jim, over for dinner? I’m not arguing, come on,” she took his upper arm and turned him around, leading him back to her door. She released him to slip a key from her pocket, unlocking the door and pushing it open. He trailed after her into the kitchen and placed the paper bag down on the countertop. “Well, sit down. I can’t do anything if you’re towering over me like that.” He obeyed as she grabbed a first aid tin from a shelf above the sink and placed it on the kitchen table, next to where he was sat. She took a pad of gauze and a small bottle of surgical spirit, sitting down in front of him and biting her lip, “might sting a little.”

“It’s fine. I’ve had worse,” he gave a grimace.

“Don’t remind me. I remember you sleeping on our couch, though nobody told me at the time you’d been stabbed. Had to get Peter to tell me, and even then, it was tough to get it out of him,” she sighed and shook her head. “You’re in the wars more than Dad.” He flinched as she dabbed at the wound and she muttered an apology.

“Well, that’s because he’s better at his job than me,” he shrugged, wincing. “I’m better at the thinking.”

“If that were true, you wouldn’t be a Detective Sergeant, would you? And Dad wouldn’t like you.”

“Sometimes I wonder if he does,” he regretted saying it when she gave him a questioning glance. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing, really.”

“No, go on.”

He sighed, “he’s been…icy, of late.” He hissed as she pressed down slightly.

“Well, if you do insist on going about getting shot,” she muttered. “You really should see a doctor about this. It might need stitches. What’s so funny?” He was chuckling to himself, as full a laugh as he ever gave.

“That’s what your father said.”

“Well, he’s right. I worry about you more than him. I think Mum does, too, sometimes,” she bit her lip as she pressed a clean wad of gauze to the wound. “And as for him being icy, that might be my fault.”

“Oh, I hardly think it’s your fau…”

“He knows you came to see me. Before.”

“I don’t know how. I never told him.”

“Exactly. I think he feels you should have,” she paused after taping the gauze to his head. “How does that feel?”

“Like I need a drink.”

She raised her eyebrows and stood up, pouring a glass of water and placing it in front of him. “I really do not think you should drink anything other than water with a headwound.”

“Perhaps I should have told him. Perhaps you wouldn’t have gotten…hurt.”

She fixed her eyes to his face – something few people did – and shook her head. “What happened would have happened whether you told him or not. This way, you kept your word, too. Besides, you can’t rewrite history with ‘perhaps’.”

“I wish I could. Turn back time, change the way things happened.”

“And what would you have done differently?” she asked, a sad, wistful tint to her voice.

He shrugged. “Don’t know. Stopped you from leaving, perhaps?”

“I needed to leave, Morse. Needed to get away from it all, Mum and Dad and the bank and everyone.”

“Then I would turn back time to before the robbery. Or not have lied about my name. Made sure you had no reason to leave. That might have been the biggest mistake I’ve ever made,” he smiled at her, before looking away, a blush colouring his cheeks. “Did you love him?” There was a tense silence in which they both looked anywhere but one another. And then she stood up and tidied the first aid supplies away.

“Does it matter?”

“I don’t know.”

“Claudine called ‘round yesterday.”

“Did she? She didn’t mention it.”

“Do you want a coffee?” She asked, flicking the kettle on.

“Sure.”

“You’re good for one another.”

“Hmm…”

He was interrupted by a thick London accent, the woman who had first opened the door back, blonde hair now pulled into a twist. “No’ a missake af’er awl, ‘en, ay? Friend o’ your faver’s, ‘ee says, Joanie.”

“He works with my dad. He’s _my_ friend.” Joan locks eyes with him and smiled.

“Righ’, well, I’wl leave you to i’,” she gave a knowing smirk as Joan handed a mug of coffee to Morse and sat back down. “I’wl be back la’e. Don’ wai’ up, now.”

“Have fun!” Joan called after her roommate, biting her lip and looking down afterwards.

They both sat in silence as they waited for the door to click shut. “She seems…uh…friendly…?”

“She’s a character, I’ll give her that. She doesn’t really understand the meaning of moderation. Or privacy. Or discretion. But she’s alright – she means well.”

“Don’t we all?” Joan raised her eyebrows and nodded to his head. He smirked slightly. “Point taken. Do you really, I mean…am I really your friend?”

“Of course, you shouldn’t even have to ask,” she stared at him. “You really never thought of me as a friend?”

“No. I mean, I thought of you as my friend, sort of, but I never thought you thought of me as a friend – I just work with your father.”

“Why do you think I turned up at your flat that night? Why do you think I told the hospital to phone you?”

“Well, I…I just thought you had nowhere else to turn.”

Joan shrugged. “I could have gone to anyone I knew before. I could have gone to Jim or anyone else I know through Dad. But I went to you because I trust you, and because, well, you’re my friend. Why did you come here tonight if you didn’t think I was your friend?”

“Because I didn’t…there wasn’t anyone else I wanted to fix me.”

She smiled sadly and covered his hand with her own. “Morse, you are the last person in the universe who needs fixing.”

“Can I ask you something?”

“If you can’t then I’m not sure what we’ve been doing for the last half hour.”

“I just…did you know? When you came to me, did you know?”

“That I was pregnant?” He gave a subtle nod and she swallowed. “Yeah.”

“That’s why he hit you, isn’t it?”

“I told you, I…”

“Don’t. Don’t say you provoked him.” She grit her teeth and looked away, ashamed. “And that’s why you wouldn’t marry me?”

“No. I wouldn’t marry you because you don’t love me. Not like that, anyway. And because the moment wasn’t right. And because, in forty years’ time, I don’t want to be telling my grandchildren that my husband proposed out of pity because I turned up on his doorstep up the duff and knocked about.” She sniffed, furiously backhanding tears from her cheeks. “I thought you knew. When you asked, I thought you knew. And I realised that I couldn’t bring that shame upon you. Because even if nobody else knew any different, you would always know that, if I had had it then it would not have been yours, and I just…I wanted better for you.” Standing up, she walked to the kitchen sink and grabbed some paper towel to dry her eyes and blow her nose. “Ugh, look at me. Crying over something that never happened.”

“But it did happen.”

“Yeah, well, it wasn’t like I was exactly happy about it. I mean, I left Mum and Dad’s to avoid that whole life, being a mother, being married. And instead that is almost exactly where I landed. I mean, I wasn’t ready. I didn’t want a child.”

“And now?”

“I don’t know. I mean, you get a taste of something and you hate it because it is what you want to hate. But when it’s taken away, you feel, I don’t know, like you’re missing out on something that everyone else has. It’s not the right time, I’m still not ready, I just…” she trailed off. “Sometimes I wonder what would have happened. Whether I would have coped.”

“Of course, you would have.”

“I’m not so sure.”

“I am. You’ve made a home and a life for yourself. That’s more than I have. And you’ve plenty of friends who would have supported you.”

She smiled, her brow furrowed slightly. “Thank you, Morse. You think too highly of me, but thank you for the sentiment.”

“I rarely make theories and conclusions I cannot base in fact, or at least strong hypotheses. And I inductively conclude that you are strong and more than capable for anything that the world throws at you,” with which he drained his coffee and set his mug down.

“Do you want another? It’ll be not trouble.”

He stood and pulled on his overcoat, “I really should be going. Early morning tomorrow – lots of paperwork to type up.” She walked him to the door and leant against it as he turned on her doorstep to look at her, reminding him of mornings picking her father up, a rush that settled to a moment of calm as soon as she recognised him. “Thank you, for the coffee and fixing my head.”

“Well, I still think you should see a doctor about it.”

“I’ll be fine, I’ve-“

“’Had worse.’ I know, you’re like a broken record, you are.”

“Well… Goodnight, Miss Thursday.”

He hesitated, and just before he turned she blurted, “I didn’t love him, Morse – not really, at least.”

After a moment more of hesitation he bowed his head to conceal a soft smile. “Good. Nothing worse than being hurt by someone you love.”

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote most of this way back when this episode first aired, nearly a year ago. And I have only just finished it. I'm not sure it goes anywhere or adds anything or is particularly important at all, but I started at the end and worked backwards.


End file.
